


A Scrap of Silk

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint/Coulson Holiday Exchange, Established Relationship, Kink Discovery, Lingerie, M/M, Neither Clint nor Phil gets drugged, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pre-Canon, honeypot mission, the OMC is a mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: Clint filling in during an op leads to the discovery of a new kink.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cpwatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cpwatcher/gifts).



> For Cpwatcher. Happy holidays! I hope you like it!
> 
> I'd like to thank the mods for bearing with me during what turned into ridiculous and unforgivable delays. You are all the best, and I appreciate your patience.
> 
> The tags may sound a little alarming, so I've included a bit more info at the bottom, for those who'd like to know.

 

Clint was whistling as he slid through the window of the small safe house. He could've used the door, he supposed, but there was absolutely no fun in that.

He latched the window behind him and turned, the jaunty cartoon jingle of _here I come to save the day!_ sliding into a wolf whistle as he caught sight of the already impressive bruise on Weber's face.

"Wow," Clint laughed as he set down his bow case and the case containing his backup rifle. "You know, absolutely _no one_ is going to believe you when you say you walked into a door."

Weber just glared at him and continued checking the readiness of the second backup rifle. His clumsiness on a wet kitchen floor had led to the current arrangement of things, and Clint was pretty sure no one on this mission was ever going to let him live it down. Not even Coulson, though Clint was sure Phil would be way more subtle about it than Clint was planning to be.

"Eyesight compromised?" Clint asked -- a valid concern, since Weber was now going to be backing _him_ up instead of the other way around.

"No," Weber said shortly, packing away the rifle now that it was ready.

"Well, no more than usual," Clint said breezily, because he was Hawkeye and dissing other people's 'perfect' eyesight was expected.

"Fuck you, Barton -- "

"Focus, please," Coulson said mildly, and the quiet command in that soft voice settled into Clint's bones, as it always did, calming everything inside of him. "We were already short on time, and now we're even shorter. Barton, go clean up. Morse should be just about done in there. Weber, proceed with the comm checks, please."

Clint glanced toward the bathroom door just as it opened and Bobbi emerged. She would be his primary backup, watching Clint's six from inside the bar, and she was dressed in a tight sweater and tighter jeans. He catcalled her on his way to the bathroom, waggling his eyebrows as he passed, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Got those sticks of yours, honey? You're gonna need them to beat all the boys off."

She was grinning as she shoved him into the bathroom.

It didn't take him long to freshen up -- he hadn't been in position long when Coulson's call to return to the safe house had come in, and it was a short jog back -- but he was supposed to be cruising for a hook up, so he cleaned up and futzed with his hair. He debated shaving but decided it would make him look too young. Intel said their mark liked younger men, but not twinks.

He ambled out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel around his waist, ignoring Bobbi's theatrical sigh.

"Wardrobe's on the armchair," Coulson told him without looking up from the intel he was reviewing, and Clint tightened his towel a bit so it wouldn't fall as he crossed the room.

Wardrobe was exactly as Clint expected -- tight black jeans, tighter t-shirt, and a beautiful buttery leather jacket that Clint started immediately plotting to liberate from SHIELD. His brain ground to a halt as he caught sight of a scrap of something silky.

"Uh," he said hesitantly, lifting the panties into the air on a fingertip.

They were pink -- vibrant, rather than pale, one of those colors that was probably fuchsia or magenta or something. Thin and gauzy, soft between his calloused fingers, and the waistband was smooth and silky, tied in a perfect bow directly above a cutout designed to bare the top of the wearer's ass.

 _His_ ass, he realized, swallowing roughly. The other three were staring at him now -- Coulson evenly, Bobbi with a mischievous grin, and Weber with an expression that was very definitely relief.

"I think there's been a mistake?" Clint said, but even as he did, he resigned himself to wearing them -- Coulson didn't make mistakes, not on missions.

"No mistake," Coulson replied calmly. "Our mark likes his men with a little bit of frill and lace."

"They're really small," Clint said dubiously, eying them.

"They'll fit."

Clint narrowed his eyes, looking past the panties toward Phil. "How do you know? This wasn't my mission. Didn't you pick them to fit Weber's ass? I mean, you've got a great ass, Weber, don't get me wrong, but it ain't like mine."

"You and Weber have nearly identical waist, hip, rise, and inseam measurements," Coulson said before Weber could do more than bristle in indignation. "You are wider in the shoulders and chest, Barton, but the mark's not likely to complain if that makes your shirt a little tighter, is he?"

Clint grinned in admiration. "You totally planned for Weber to be a klutz, didn't you, boss?"

"Hey -- " Weber interrupted, but Clint didn't let him finish.

"You brought me along as your contingency plan," Clint realized. Not that he'd really assumed Phil had brought him along just for his company, but he _had_ wondered why a mission that had seemed so straightforward had needed Hawkeye's aim for the secondary backup.

Phil didn't reply, but he didn't have to. The situation explained itself.

"That's hot, sir," Clint laughed. Flirting with Coulson felt natural. He'd been doing it since their first mission together, long before they'd started sleeping together, let alone living together.

Phil gave him the same glare now as he'd given during those early days.

"Get dressed, we're running short on time."

Clint glanced from Phil to Weber to Bobbi, and then shrugged. "Sure, boss."

He turned around, at least, before dropping his towel to the ground, laughing as Weber groaned and Bobbi growled, "Dammit, Barton!"

Something pointy hit in him the left ass cheek, making Clint grateful that the pencil Bobbi'd thrown at him was dull. It wasn't like the three of them hadn't seen his ass before. Clint was pretty sure the SHIELD agents who'd seen his bare ass outnumbered those hadn't. Yet.

"When you got it," he sang, wiggling his ass for good measure as he stepped into the panties, "Flaunt it!"

He fell quiet as he slid them up his legs. They were smooth and soft against his skin in a way no pair of men's shorts had ever felt. They cupped his cock and balls gently -- he'd expected them to feel small, or tight, or constraining in a completely unfamiliar way, but they fit perfectly. The bow on the silk waistband brushed against the small of his back, a constant reminder of its presence.

Clint had a sudden vision of Phil, serious and focused, choosing the perfect pair of panties with the thought that Clint might be the one to end up wearing them. He swallowed roughly.

Maybe he'd even had them specially made. Given someone Clint's measurements and --

No.

Clint stopped that line of thought immediately. The last thing he needed at the moment was to get hard, and thinking that way guaranteed it.

He reminded himself that Phil had picked these for Weber, not for Clint. They were a tool, just like his bow or the tech he'd be carrying, and this was a mission.

He'd been quiet a second too long.

"Everything all right, Barton?" Phil asked, his troubleshooting-the-mission voice firmly in place, and Clint forced himself to nod.

"Everything's cool, sir. Don't get your panties in a bunch," he said through an insolent grin, and Bobbi rolled her eyes and snorted. Weber just shook his head.

Clint met Coulson's eyes. They were sharp, calculating, as he assessed Clint's mission readiness. After a moment, Phil nodded and returned his attention to the mission intel, and Clint went back to preparing.

Clint dropped into a lunge or two, part of his regular pre-mission routine. He'd expected the panties to slip or ride up, but they stayed exactly where they were supposed to.

He finished dressing quickly, doing his best to ignore how different the tight jeans felt against his skin through the sheer panties. It was nearly a caress.

Bobbi and Weber left to get into position. Normally, Clint would use the time before he left to wander around the room and chat with Phil -- or at least try to, since mission!Coulson spent more time ignoring Clint's banter than joining in. But every movement reminded him of what was different about this mission, and he felt a little thrown, and _more_ thrown by the fact that he _didn't_ mind wearing panties under his jeans as much as he'd thought he would.

It was a feeling he needed to get rid of. If he wasn't at his best, he could fuck up the whole thing.

He borrowed Bobbi's makeup bag and applied the very faintest traces of mascara and eyeliner -- he didn't want to look made up, but it was enough to make his eyes stand out, even in a dark bar.

Slipping his comm back into his ear -- he'd removed it when he'd showered -- Clint listened to the familiar rhythm of progress checks and status reports from Weber and Bobbi and Phil. He tried to get used to walking in the jeans, and the panties, trying to see if there was a difference in the way he moved.

Clint stood at the window and stretched. He relaxed his muscles, from the top of his head to his toes, doing his best to lose the mission-ready focus he'd needed when his aim was all that had been required. He was hyper aware of the way the tight shirt rode up when he stretched, exposing the bright pink waistband of the panties, especially the bow at the back.

He kept thinking he felt Phil's eyes on him, but every time he glanced over, Phil was looking at his files or his screens.

Finally, _finally_ , Bobbi reported that the mark had entered the bar. Phil caught Clint's eyes at last.

"You're up, Barton," he said, and Clint grinned.

"I got this, boss," he said confidently as he slipped on the leather jacket, and yep, he was definitely stealing this one.

 _There_ was the smile he'd missed, the smile Phil kept just for him.

"I know you do, Hawkeye. Go do good work."

"Affirmative."

Clint sauntered toward the door, more swing in his hips than usual, and he wasn't sure if it was on purpose or unconscious. At the door, he turned to give Phil one last wink, blinking in surprise at the instant of pure hunger he saw on Phil's face. It was gone by the time he registered it, and he wasn't sure what he'd seen.

 _Put it away_ , he ordered himself. _Mission_.

"See you soon, sir," he tossed out, and then he let everything but the work fall away.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Clint caught sight of the mark the instant he walked into the bar. Scott Josephson was at the bar, drink in hand, boredly eying the Friday night crowd. Josephson was tallish, medium build, maybe ten years older than Clint. He had dark hair and light eyes, and was moderately handsome, if the calculating coldness in his eyes wasn't so off-putting.

Maybe that was only obvious because Clint was looking for it.

He caught a glimpse of Bobbi in his peripheral vision, tucked away in one of the tiny corner booths. There was a bottle of beer on the table in front her next to the book she was reading. The headphones she wore obviously weren't a complete deterrent, judging by the looks several men in the crowd around her were giving her.

Clint wove through the crowd, approaching the bar and mentally pumping a fist when Josephson's gaze met his. Interest sparked in the other man's eyes, and Clint inwardly grinned. Clearly SHIELD had gotten the mark's taste right, and a tiny, competitive part of Clint wondered if Weber would've gained the man's attention just as quickly.

He smiled politely but absently as he stepped up to the bar beside Josephson, slinging off his jacket and laying on the barstool in front of him as he ordered a scotch and soda.

The bartender set it on the bar in front of him, and he nodded his thanks, leaning forward slightly to grab it. He felt the air of the bar on the small of his back as he did, and he suppressed a grin at the slight choking sound next to him. The silk waistband and the clever cutout of the panties gave Josephson a perfect view of the top of Clint's ass.

Drink in hand, Clint turned -- in the opposite direction of Josephson -- surveying the crowd in much the same way the mark had been when Clint had first walked in.

"How 'bout you let me buy that drink for you?" Josephson offered, his voice a low, inviting purr, and Clint glanced over inquisitively.

He let his eyes widen slightly, his once-over blatant before he smiled.

"I've got this one, thanks," he said as he leaned in. "But... maybe you can get the next one, honey. That'll give us time to get to know each other a little better, since I don't take drinks from strangers."

Josephson -- whose face had started closing off at Clint's first words -- laughed, charmed.

Clint reeled him in masterfully, smiles and flirting and physical cues he hadn't used in a while coming back to him like they'd never left. He'd never managed to deploy them against Phil the way he'd wanted to -- with Coulson, there'd been nothing outside of missions except awkwardness and pining -- and _that_ was a line of thought he needed to shut down now, a distraction he couldn't afford.

He did the job, soothed by the constant murmur of reassurance and sitreps in his ear. The comm was tiny, nearly invisible even if someone was nuzzling the ear it was in, which was a good thing, since Josephson was currently murmuring some _very_ filthy suggestions directly into it.

The sloppily weaving drunk on the other side of Clint knocked him into Josephson, and he allowed a spike of annoyance to cross his face even as he steadied himself with his hand on Josephson's chest. Turning the touch into a caress, Clint smiled up into Josephson's eyes as he murmured an apology.

"Are we acquainted enough yet that you'd consider having a drink upstairs with me?" Josephson said, his hand settling against the small of Clint's back, fingers dipping below his jeans to brush the bow on the waistband of the panties Clint wore.

Clint's shiver wasn't entirely for show, and he ducked his head coyly as he nodded. He grabbed his jacket but didn't put it on, and Josephson kept his hand on the small of Clint's back as he led Clint from the bar and into the elevator that led to the guest rooms.

He glanced around as they entered Josephson's suite, outward curiosity masking his thorough but quick examination of the premises. Somewhere here was the biometric safe that was the real target of this mission. It held the records SHIELD needed, but he doubted it would be out in the open or easily identified.

Settling the jacket over the back of the armchair, Clint locked his hands over his head and stretched tall. The front of his shirt rode up, exposing the faint trail of hair that arrowed straight into the front waistband of his panties, shocking and bright against his tanned skin and dark jeans.

He felt Josephson's eyes on him and glanced over to see the man staring at him, eyes narrowed, frozen with two heavy glass tumblers in his hands. Josephson cleared his throat, setting the tumblers on the table and crossing to Clint.

"These an everyday thing, or for special occasions only?" he asked, his hands on Clint's hips as he gently fingered the silky pink bow.

Clint looked down, forcing a blush to his cheeks as he shrugged.

"Not every day," he murmured. "Just... sometimes I like... I like to feel them against my skin."

Josephson's breath came out shaky, warm on Clint's cheek as he brushed a kiss against Clint's temple.

"They're very pretty, what I can see of them," Josephson whispered into Clint's ear. "I can't wait to see what the rest of them look like..."

Clint shifted restlessly against Josephson, biting his lip but keeping his eyes lowered.

"I might need that drink before I let you see the rest of them," he said softly. "I don't let very many people see me in them."

Josephson's hands tightened briefly on Clint's hips before they fell away. "Then I'm honored. Let's have that drink, shall we?"

He turned back to the table, reaching into the minibar to pull out a couple of tiny bottles of scotch, giving Clint a smile as he poured a couple of fingers into each tumbler.

"For courage," he said as he handed Clint one of them, and Clint gave him a sheepish grin as he took it.

"Cheers," Clint murmured as they clinked glasses, and Josephson laughed as Clint threw back the scotch, fighting down a wince at the burn of it. He set the glass down on the table as Josephson took a sip of his own.

Slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, Clint palmed the transdermal patch that was crucial to the mission. The move made his chest jut out and broadened his shoulders, his arms flexing and testing the seams of his shirt sleeves. Josephson swallowed his sip of scotch a bit roughly before setting the tumbler down with a click and moving closer. One hand stroked over Clint's hair as the other slid around to the small of Clint's back once more.

Clint drew Josephson into a kiss, and then another, smiling into it at the satisfied growl Josephson gave as he deepened it. He flexed his palm to activate the patch's adhesive, moving his hand around the back of Josephson's head to cup his neck and place the patch. He backed them toward the bed, breath catching in his throat as Josephson's hands slid into his jeans, cupping his ass, shockingly hot through the sheer material of the panties. Moaning into the kiss, he pressed closer to Josephson, thumb stroking over the man's neck -- and the patch, the movement delivering the potent sleeping agent it held through Josephson's skin.

Clint slid his hands around to the front of Josephson's chest, fingers nimble as he unbuttoned the man's shirt. Their kisses continued, Clint hoping the drug kicked in soon as it was going to quickly be obvious that he wasn't into this at all, despite the happy noises he was making.

Josephson's hands went to the hem of Clint's shirt, and Clint lifted his arms so Josephson could take it off him. The man paused with Clint's shirt in his hand, blinking, his eyes, unfocused.

"Scott?" Clint said, his voice concerned. "You okay?"

"I..." Scott replied, dropping Clint's shirt and wobbling on his feet, and then his knees gave out. Clint shoved him back so that he lay sprawled on the bed.

"Scott? Scott? Honey, you okay?" Clint asked as he reached down to grab his shirt and pull it back over his head.

"Sitrep," Coulson said in his ear as Clint finished checking on the man's breathing and vitals.

"He's out," Clint said, crossing to his jacket to pull a pair of thin gloves out of the inside pocket and slip them on. He walked to the window and pulled open the heavy outer curtains, leaving the thin inner curtains closed.

"Visual confirmed," Weber said from his nest across the street. "Mark appears unconscious." 

Clint returned to the bed and clinically stripped Josephson. He'd feel more guilty about drugging the man and leaving him with unclear memories of what happened tonight if the man weren't involved in drug and 084 trafficking at best and human trafficking at worst.

He left the man mostly naked on the bed and conducted a swift, careful search of the room. Bobbi -- back at the safe house now -- and Weber and Coulson kept up the steady background noise of checks and rechecks, and Clint knew Weber would sound the alarm if Josephson so much as twitched.

"Found the safe," Clint broke in, and the background noise stopped. He eyed the small utilitarian carrying case tucked under a couple of folded undershirts in the third drawer down.

"Can't believe this idiot just left it in the dresser," he muttered.

"He stopped in the middle of a job for a hookup," Bobbi retorted. "That's what thinking with your dick gets you."

"Doesn't look like it's rigged, sir," Clint said as he knelt to get a closer look. "Looks like a fingerprint lock and a retinal scan."

He could've just grabbed the small case and run -- SHIELD's techs could easily beat the security on it -- but the whole point of this op was to let Josephson continue his mission thinking he was undiscovered. SHIELD needed the information he held, but they also needed the links higher up in the food chain that he would lead them to.

"Proceed, Agent Barton," Coulson said, and Clint nodded. Slipping the keyring he carried out of his jacket, he activated the tiny camera hidden in one of the souvenir keychains and took a picture of the layout of the objects in the drawer before shoving the keys back into his pocket. He ran his hand through his hair and then lifted the case out of the drawer, carrying it to the bed.

It was a little awkward to work with the man's heavy, unconscious body, but Clint soon had the case open.

The case held several files with photos and documents and a small notebook full of neatly handwritten notes, in some form of alphanumeric code. Pulling his keys back out, Clint took careful pictures of everything in each file and every page of the notebook, checking the tiny screen to make sure each picture was clear.

He worked quickly but carefully. Spy stuff like this wasn't his favorite job -- Nat thrived on it, and Clint enjoyed it more when he was working with her _and_ Phil, but she was away on a mission with Sitwell and Hand at the moment -- but he was good at it when he had to be. He was beyond grateful that the honeypot part of this mission had only stretched to kisses and some groping.

"Done," he said, and he clicked the keys on the keychain that would send the data back to Phil's receiver.

"Data received. I'll send it on to HQ for analysts to chew on. Plant the tracker, get clear, and get gone, Barton. Good work."

"Aye, aye, sir," he said with a salute, and he could practically hear the eyeroll he knew Coulson was suppressing.

He checked the case one last time to make sure he hadn't missed anything, and then he replaced one of the paperclips in one of the files with one carrying a tiny SHIELD tracker. It wouldn't function forever, but it should be enough to tell them the case's next stop.

Shutting the case, Clint watched as the lock re-engaged. It was a simple enough lock that it didn't show any details of the last time it had been accessed, which was good -- that would have been a complication he and SHIELD were happy to do without.

He settled the case back into the drawer and rearranged it as it had been when he'd opened it, consulting the camera to make sure it looked exactly right. Taking Josephson's glass into the bathroom, he emptied the remaining scotch down the sink, running the water until all trace of the alcohol was gone. He returned to the table, moved the chairs around, and repositioned the empty glasses and tiny minibar bottles to make it look as though they'd sat and had a drink.

The drug he'd administered was potent, he knew -- knew _personally_ , since he'd volunteered to be part of the testing phase. Josephson wouldn't remember much more than picking someone up at the bar, if that, and finding his secrets intact, he'd hopefully be thankful that he'd only been roofied and robbed of his wallet and watch instead of having his part in a criminal theft ring uncovered. If he had suspicions, they'd know when he woke up, and they'd deal accordingly. Clint didn't have to worry about that patch he'd applied, since it would dissolve at the same rate as the drug it delivered was absorbed, leaving nothing behind but a slight residue that would be washed away when Josephson next showered. Knowing that, he deployed a couple of listening devices to handle follow up surveillance, and then he was pretty much done.

Clint slipped his jacket back on and bent to grab said wallet out of Josephson's pocket. He tucked it into his own pocket before reaching to take the man's watch off his wrist. Leaving it would make the man more suspicious, not less.

"It's a nice watch," Clint said as he pocketed it, the heavy metal links clinking loud enough to be heard over the comms. "At least now I don't have to buy you a Christmas present, sir."

"Just what I've always wanted, a stolen midlevel lackey's knockoff Rolex," Coulson said, deadpan. "Thank you, Agent Barton."

"How do you know it's a knockoff, sir?" Bobbi said with a laugh in her voice. "Maybe he saved his lunch money."

"Care to bet on it, Agent Morse?"

Clint pulled it out and eyed it before shoving it back in his pocket. "Wouldn't take that bet, Bob," he said. "Ready to exit."

"Corridor's clear," Weber said after a moment. "You're good to go."

With one last glance back at Josephson and around the room to make sure everything was as it should be, Clint pulled the door open and left the room behind.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

The trip back to the safe house went without a hitch. Clint strolled up the front porch and unlocked the door, shutting and locking it behind him and whistling softly as he made his way into the living room. His part of the job was done.

"Honey, I'm home," he said with a grin, sighing when both his ex-wife and his current... whatever ignored him. "Nobody appreciates me."

"Barton's arrived -- "

"Couldn't tell, sir," Weber interrupted, and Clint tsked at the man's snark.

"Unprofessional," he muttered, "Interrupting the AIC."

"Weber, you've got eyes on the mark," Coulson went on, ignoring both of them. 

"Yes, sir. I'll keep an eye on him til he wakes up."

"Excellent. Notify us immediately if anything changes, understood?"

"Got it, sir."

Phil turned to Clint, only catching his eyes briefly before turning back to the after-action he already had open on the table. Clint frowned, even as Coulson said, "Ready to debrief, Barton, or would you prefer to change first?"

"I'm good," he said, pulling a chair around to straddle it, resting his arms on the back of it. "I'll change later. Let's just get the debrief over with."

They both stared at him for a moment, and he realized -- he was still wearing the clothes from the op, including the panties. Maybe he should've been scrambling to take them off, but... he wasn't.

He was still trying to figure out how he felt about that when Bobbi shook her head. "I cannot believe you missed the completely obvious 'debrief' pun there, Barton -- you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Dammit," he groused, smacking his forehead, but Phil didn't even show a flicker of amusement, and Clint felt a tiny kernel of unease blossom in his gut.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Coulson said, his working-with-baby-agents voice firmly in place, and the unease grew.

The debrief went quickly, but there was clearly something up with Phil. Clint answered his questions honestly and thoroughly, trying to keep emotion out of things. That was what they'd agreed when they'd started seeing each other, after all, but he couldn't help but worry and wonder what was wrong.

This was the first honeypot mission either of them had taken since they'd started their relationship. He'd thought Phil would be okay with it -- Phil was the one who'd brought him along, after all, with the intention of having him available as a backup to seduce the mark -- but maybe it was affecting Phil more than he'd thought it would.

Clint focused on the work, knowing Phil was doing the same, but the accomplishment of a job well done waned until it was gone, leaving nothing but churning worry behind.

After he was finished debriefing -- during which Coulson never met Clint's eyes, no matter how many times Clint tried to get him to look up -- Clint decided to leave Phil to his reports and his observations, while he cleaned and packed up the no longer necessary clothes, weapons, and equipment. He moved around, doing everything that needed to be done, and then some, but every time he glanced at Phil, the man's lips were flatter and flatter, his jaw tight and body tense.

Not even Weber's eventual confirmation of Josephson's reaction upon awakening made the worry go away.

"He woke up and freaked out, and then dove for the dresser, sir, and now he's sitting on the floor, hugging the case. He still looks like shit, but I think he's bought it."

Coulson gave Weber a terse, "Good work, Agent Weber," and an order to return to the safe house.

Clint decided he didn't want to lurk in the background while Coulson conducted Weber's debrief. He thought about heading into the bedroom he'd shared with Coulson to get some rest, but he realized he didn't want to be in there, surrounded by good memories, not when he didn't know what the hell was going on.

The safe house had three bedrooms, so it had only made sense for him and Coulson to share the downstairs master, leaving Bobbi and Weber to their own rooms upstairs. He and Phil had done nothing but sleep beside each other the first two nights of the mission, although they'd woken curled around each other each morning, just as they always did at home. Remembering that now made Clint ache.

Clint decided instead to make himself useful and put together some sandwiches or something for the whole team. He passed Bobbi on the way to the kitchen, mumbling his plans, and she gave him a concerned look, which didn't help the building anxiety. At all.

Debrief done and food eaten, Coulson transmitted his reports and dismissed Bobbi and Weber for the night, reminding them of their flight time the following morning, and the time they'd need to leave. He praised them all one more time for their hard work, and watched them both head upstairs.

He didn't look at Clint as he packed away his files.

"Um -- " Clint's voice broke, and he cleared his throat and started again. "I -- I can bunk on the couch, sir. If... if you want."

Phil's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I..." Clint looked down as he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, and he realized that was still wearing his outfit from the op. He'd been so anxious, he'd forgotten to change. "Look, I don't know what's wrong, but you're pissed at something, and I think it's me, but I don't know how or what I did, and just... um, could you tell me? Was it the mission? Was it something I -- "

"You think I'm -- " Phil dropped the files he was stacking onto the table, leaving them where they lay. "Come with me."

He grabbed Clint by the arm, his grip firm, but not rough, pulling him through the hallway. Hauling Clint along, he stepped into the bedroom they were using and shut the door.

"Phil -- " Clint started, and then pretty much squeaked when Phil pressed him against the door, taking his mouth in a rough kiss.

Clint gasped into the kiss and then went pliant, half with relief and half with the lust that came surging up whenever Phil kissed him this way. He slid his arms up Phil's back, feeling the play of muscle beneath the familiar suit coat, intimately knowing the strength that expensive fabric hid.

He pulled back, chest heaving as he gasped for air, biting his lip to muffle his cry when Phil's teeth found his neck, nipping sharply.

"Do you know," Phil panted, voice muffled as his face was still buried in Clint's neck, "what it was like for me, knowing you were there, surrounded by all those people -- "

"Phil -- " Clint started, his heart sinking, but Phil slid his hand up, pressing against Clint's lips with his fingers, shivering when Clint kissed them and fell silent.

"You were walking around in that bar, tying the mark up in knots, and then you were just... amazing in that hotel room, doing the job so much better than you ever give yourself credit for, and then you came back here, and the whole time you were bending down and stretching up and just... _walking around_ , and all the while, I knew that underneath those jeans, you were wearing _these_." His hands slid into the back of Clint's pants and cupped Clint's ass, and Clint blinked, because Josephson had done the same thing, but that was work and he'd felt nothing, and this was Phil, and fuck -- he bucked against Phil as Phil squeezed his ass with both hands.

"I'm sorry, Clint, I didn't mean to worry you, I didn't realize how it looked -- all I could do was focus on what needed to be done so I didn't snap and fuck you against the wall in the middle of the mission."

Clint groaned at the image, not sure whether he wanted to press forward into Phil or backward into Phil's hands.

"I've been like this practically since you came back, maybe even since you left," Phil told him, pressing Clint further into the door, his cock hard against Clint's hip.

"Is this a thing, then, for you?" Clint murmured, gasping when Phil's lips found the sensitive spot beneath his ear. "You never said anything."

"It never has been before, but fuck, you look so damn good in them, and knowing that I picked them -- "

"I had to stop thinking about that, that you picked them, or I would've embarrassed myself in front of Bobbi and Weber," Clint said. He leaned back against the door, pressing his ass further into Phil's hands, laughing as Phil growled in approval and squeezed harder. Clint kissed him again, deep and hungry, shoving at Phil's suit coat until Phil stepped back to take it off.

"Wait, I didn't think that through, come back," Clint said, breathlessly, laughing and grabbing at him.

"You don't seem to mind wearing them," Phil said as he untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes on Clint's waist as Clint lifted his shirt over his head and the pink waistband peeked out of his jeans.

Clint shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat. "They fit, and they're comfortable, and you chose them. And I look good in them."

Phil licked his lips, unbuckling his belt. "Fuck. You look -- you have no idea how you look in them. Your ass is always incredible, Clint, but in those..."

Clint kicked his boots off and pushed his jeans down and off, doing a little wiggle and a turn as he laughed. "When you got it -- "

His words choked off as Phil pressed him into the door again, his body hot against Clint's back, the door cool against his front.

"Flaunt it," Phil growled into his ear, his cock huge and hard and amazingly hot as it dug into the crease of Clint's ass through the panties. Clint groaned, leaning his head back on Phil's shoulder as Phil's hands slid around his front. One cupped Clint's hard cock through the sheer material while the other found its way to Clint's nipple, rolling the hard peak between Phil's fingers.

Clint braced himself against the door, letting Phil rock against him.

"Would you wear them again?" Phil asked him, his voice a harsh rasp.

"God," Clint groaned, pushing into Phil's hand. The sensations were like nothing he'd ever felt before, it wasn't anything like being in boxers or briefs. It was like he was naked, but not, the sheer material adding barely there friction between his body and the heat of Phil's. "Yeah, 'course, any time you want."

"What if I buy you more, especially for you, would you wear those? Not -- not for a mission, not for any reason but that I want you to. Would you? Would you do that for me?"

"Fuck, Phil, yeah, anything, I think I'd wear 'em anyway, they're so different, they _feel_ so different, but I like them, but this? Knowing they make you want me like this? Yeah. Fuck, you feel so good!"

"I always want you like this," Phil said, teeth sharp against the muscle of Clint's shoulder, and Clint jumped, moaning at the sensation. "Every minute of every day, I want you like this."

Pressing a kiss to the nape of Clint's neck, Phil released him and stepped back. Clint bit back a needy whine at the sudden loss of sensation.

"On the bed," Phil said, casually reaching down to hold the base of his cock as he crossed the room. "I want to see you in them, I couldn't look earlier, and I want to now."

Clint crawled up onto the bed, putting a little sway into it, laughing when Phil groaned at the sight. He flipped around until he lay on his back, legs spread, arms behind his head, grinning when Phil pulled Clint's socks off his feet and tossed them across the room toward his jeans.

"Fuck, look at you," Phil breathed as he settled on the bed between Clint's legs. He leaned down to press a kiss to Clint's cock through the panties. Clint gasped, hips arching off the bed, but Phil held him down, a hand on each hip, thumbs stroking just above Clint's waist.

Phil focused on the hard length of Clint's cock straining against the panties, ignoring the head that stretched above the waistband. He nuzzled and licked, a press of lips, a hint of teeth, until Clint was biting his lip to keep himself quiet, hands tangled in the linens of the bed. He could feel his climax spiraling tighter within him with every touch.

"Please! Phil, please! Fuck, I'm so close, I'm gonna come if you -- I need -- "

Phil slid up his body and Clint's breath left him in nearly a sob at the friction of Phil's skin, Phil's chest hair against his sensitive cock, nearly oversensitive in the now damp panties. He kissed Clint, wet and deep, swallowing Clint's cry as Phil's hard cock slotted next to his, hot and heavy against his skin. He wrapped his leg around Phil, straining closer as they thrust together.

"Gonna come," Phil groaned in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. "Fuck, you feel so good, look so good, so gorgeous like this, come for me, Clint, come on, babe..."

Bracing himself on one elbow, Phil reached down with his other hand, grip closing tight around both of their cocks, and that was it, it was all so good, too good, too much sensation. Clint buried his face in Phil's neck and cried out, rocking helplessly into Phil's hand as he came.

With a low groan, Phil followed him, thrusting hard against Clint as he came, the heat of it nearly too much against Clint's skin. He slid half off Clint, pressing a kiss to Clint's shoulder as he panted to get his breath back. A little overwhelmed, Clint just stared at the ceiling as he tried to do the same.

Eventually, Phil raised his head and peered down the length of Clint's body. "Hmm. Think we may have ruined them."

Clint frowned at the ceiling. "Guess you'll just have to buy me more, then."

"Well that will give _me_ plenty of presents to unwrap," Phil said with a tired laugh.

Clint snorted. _Dork_ , he thought fondly, too tired to say it. 

Phil wiggled around until he could grab one of the blankets to pull up over them, and Clint shifted until he could curl into Phil's chest. He was already falling sleep, the adrenaline crash of a mission and really good sex finally hitting him, and he smiled when he felt Phil brush a kiss against his temple.

"I'd call this a successful mission all the way around," Phil murmured, his voice drowsy and distant.

"Mmm," Clint agreed, and together, they slid into sleep.

**END**

 

**Author's Note:**

> More info on the honeypot mission and the noncon drug use: Clint seduces a mark, but it doesn't go anywhere beyond kissing and a little groping before Clint uses what's basically a roofie to knock the mark out and get the job done.
> 
> I was going to include a link to the pair of panties I used as inspiration, but I can't find them now on the VS website. I guess they were holiday wear! I don't know how long this link will work, but [these](https://www.victoriassecret.com/panties/shop-all-panties-mobile/high-waist-cheeky-panty-dream-angels-wicked?ProductID=312474&CatalogueType=OLS) are sort of similar. (Link is probably not safe for work.)


End file.
